Breakdown
by LostinOblivion
Summary: A car accident. A good samaritan. A mysterious disappearance. Morgan/Prentiss friendship.
1. Chapter 1

_"I have always depended on the kindness of strangers." -Tennessee Williams_, _'A Streetcar Name Desiree'_

When they'd left the only police station in the small New England town, it had only been flurrying. They'd been driving an hour, and now the snow was a thick white surrounding them. Not a blizzard, but not fun to drive in either. The naughty words Morgan was throwing around while he navigated through it was proof enough of that. Prentiss just held onto the door, and silently cursed victim number two for moving way the hell out in the middle of nowhere.

The rest of the team was at the station, while the two of them, less tolerant of the 'sit and work quietly' aspect of their job, volunteered to brave the piss poor January weather. It seemed like the better alternative at the time. Now they were wondering if anything she could tell them would be worth the trip.

Then the wheels seemed to slip under them. Black ice. Morgan knew how to drive in winter weather, and he knew how to deal with black ice. Their fancy, government issue SUV apparently did not. The wheels went from slipping to losing all traction.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He cursed, trying to regain control of the vehicle. Prentiss checked both their belts, and hung on tight. This all in the thirty seconds it took for the SUV to go completely wild, spinning around and around, until finally sliding nose first into a snow bank with a sickening crunch of metal.

Both FBI agents jerked forward with the little give of the belts, only to be slammed back by the force of the air bags deploying in their faces. The engine hissed it's death, and everything was silent.

Prentiss came-to first, face stinging from the air bag, chest already aching from the seat belt. She batted down the air bag, and stared out the windshield. It was light enough to see that some of the snow had fallen off what was actually a pile of big rocks, like someone would stash for building a stone wall. Grimacing, she sifted around, looked at her legs, then Morgan's, both fine and unhindered. It seemed the front of the SUV had absorbed most of the impact. She batted down Morgan's air bag.

"Morgan, Morgan," she said, nudging him gently in the arm. "Morgan."

He grunted. "Hmm? What?"

"You okay?"

He groaned as he shifted, checking himself. "Yeah, you?"

"Yes, but the car's dead." She nodded through the windshield.

Morgan studied it, cocked his head to the side in confusion, and finally snapped. "Who the hell thought that was a good idea?"

Emily just shrugged, and reached for her phone. "No signal."

He pulled his out then, not expecting any different. "Same."

"Shit."

"Yep." With that he reached into the backseat, and pulled out the coats they'd taken off. Thick down parkas they used only when traveling to miserably cold climates-and when he went to Chicago in the winter.

"What do we do now?"

"Try to maintain body heat, and hope someone passes and sees us."

"And, if no one passes?" She didn't really want to contemplate that.

Morgan considered that, and then smiled at her. "How do you feel about snuggling, Prentiss?"

She laughed through her nose. "I don't know, but bet it will start looking real good in a few hours."

He smiled and watched her tangle her fingers around the stone hanging at her throat. It was a swirled mix with white, black and gray, a natural rather than precious stone.

"Gift from an admirer?" He asked.

"What?" She looked confused. He nodded at her fingers. "Oh, no my grandfather. According to him it was mined in 19th century France, though he liked to tell stories, not all of them true. It's supposed to bring protection and good luck."

"Oh yeah? You believe that stuff?"

She shrugged. "It went with my top."

Morgan chuckled at that, and they both settled into a bored silence, wondering how long it would take to be rescued by a good Samaritan. They didn't wait long. An engine roared behind them, the truck it belonged to slowing down and pulling over by the side of the road. It was a big semi hauling a long trailer behind it.

Morgan nodded to the necklace. "So far, I'd say that's working."

A figure jumped out of the cab, and trudged through the four inches of snow on the ground over to Morgan's window.

"You folks having some trouble?" He was in his late forties to early fifties, bundled against the cold, including a hat with ear flaps. Snow had caught in his thick mustache, and while his speech was slower and hinted at a lower-education level, his blue eyes were bright and clear.

"Yeah, we skidded on some black ice, and planted in this pile of stones," Morgan explained. "We've got no cell service out here."

"There's a town a ways down, maybe fifteen miles, called Culver. I can take one of you there to use a landline and get a tow," the man offered.

"One of us?" Prentiss asked, uneasily.

"I've got buckets, not a bench, and I wouldn't risk improper seating in this weather."

Morgan turned to her. "You go, call Hotch and tell him what's going on, and send a tow truck out here."

"I'm not leaving you out here alone, you'll freeze to death."

"And, if you don't go, we'll both freeze to death."

Emily turned to the man. "Thank you for the offer, but-"

"No," Morgan cut her off, and turned to their liberator. "She's going with you."

"Damn it, Morgan. I said-"

He cut her off again, and she looked ready to kill him. "It'll take me hours to freeze to death, that's more than enough time to get to that town, and get a tow out here."

"Fine then, if you're so determined, you go, and I'll stay and wait." Prentiss gave him a look, arms crossing over her chest.

"Damn it, would you not be so stubborn?"

"Pot, kettle," she hissed.

"Emily, would you just please go?" He practically begged. And then, there was this soft look in his eyes, and she was suddenly completely incapable of saying no.

Jaw tense, teeth gritted, she looked at the man, "I'll come with you, thank you very much."

"Sure thing, names Chuck, by the way." He held his hand through the window and shook both of theirs.

"Derek, Emily," Morgan introduced them. The man nodded and headed back to his truck.

Emily turned to Morgan then, eyes lit with hostility. "Morgan, so help me, if you die before I can get a truck out here, I will-" She suddenly stopped, not sure what to threaten him with.

"Kill me?" He offered, smirking.

She glared at him. "I'll sell your corpse to the nearest necrophiliac."

His eyebrows rose at that, not that she noticed as she climbed out of the SUV, and started picking her way through the snow to the tractor-trailer. When she was on his side of the car, he called to her. "Hey Prentiss!" She turned, and he grinned at her. "You know, you're a little warped?"

She shot him a smile, and disappeared into the cab. He watched the truck start, and pull back onto the road, all slow and careful movements. Then he watched it disappear in the white distance.

Ten minutes down the road, the trucker was switching his radio to find news and trying to start up a conversation. "What brings you folks out here?"

"Oh, we're heading out to meet someone," she answered, staring at the road, and purposely keeping vague. People got excited and gossipy when the heard that the FBI was in town.

"In Culver?"

"No, it's probably about another hour away."

He nodded, then suddenly said, "Do you see that?"

Emily turned, only to see him looking out her window. She stared out her window, trying to find what he was looking at, but couldn't. "No, I don't see-"

The end of her sentence was lost when her body suddenly tensed, and she began to spasm in her seat. Her body jerked against the seatbelt, arms twitching sickly, then she went limp.

She never even saw him pull the taser out.

* * *

_So, this is loosely based on the Kurt Russel film, Breakdown. It's Morgan/Prentiss friendship, but it won't be hard to see more if you're a shipper. And, considering that this is the season of finals and Christmas shopping, I can't swear to frequent updates, but they'll at least be regular. Thanks for reading, and please review!_

_Just a quick thank you very much to whoever nominated my stories for the Profiler's Choice awards, that was a wonderful surprise!  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all very much for the reviews on the first chapter, I really appreciate the support. Sorry this chapter didn't come sooner, it has been a very busy week. Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow staties, and thank you everyone for reading!_

* * *

Morgan was shivering in his seat, wondering if maybe Prentiss _would_ come back to find him dead. He wanted to know what the hell was taking her so long. Four hours. It doesn't take four hours to phone the team, and find a tow truck. She was going to get an ear full of angry when he saw her, unless she had a really, really good reason. Part of him figured that she must, considering how upset she'd been at the idea of leaving him behind. He'd had to pull out the big guns, that expression in his eyes that got most women to give in to whatever he wanted. Nice to know it worked on Prentiss too.

Not so much on men. He couldn't imagine trying that look on Hotch.

Call it chivalry or whatever, but he'd always send a woman to safety first. No matter how much she argued, and Prentiss was likely to be the worst he'd ever encounter with that. He knew she was the only person that would threaten to sell his body to a necrophiliac-and look at him completely deadpan when she made that threat. Of course, she didn't mean it. At least, he was pretty sure she didn't mean it.

A sudden burst of light caught his attention. Headlights coming toward him, heading in the same direction the truck had gone, toward that town...Custer? The Jeep Cherokee slid to a halt not far from him. He hopped out of the SUV, and had a quick conversation with the driver before getting into the passenger's seat. The burning tingle in his body as the car's heat defrosted him was so welcome it felt almost masochistic.

It took only about thirty minutes to get into the town (actually called Culver), even as slow as they were going, and the driver dropped him at a service station with a good luck and good afternoon. Morgan said his thanks, and hurried into the station's service area. It took dinging a bell, but someone came pretty quickly.

"You need some help with your car?" The man asked. He was in his early forties, with dark grease smeared all over his hands and coveralls.

"Yeah, but I'm actually looking for someone. She's in her late thirties, pretty, hair so dark it usually looks black, bangs, brown eyes, but white as Casper, 5'8", probably closer to 5' 10" or 11" with her boots on, about 130 pounds?"

The man shook his head. "I'd remember a pretty woman coming through here, especially with that description."

"Alright, her name is Emily, mine's Derek, if you see her, can you tell her I'm in town and trying to find her?"

"Sure will. Name's Jake, by the way." He offered a hand.

"Nice to meet you...uh, do you know if there's another garage in town?"

"Well, there's a gas station that does some minor fixes, but they aren't big enough to have a tow truck. I've got the only one in town."

Morgan frowned. Why hadn't she come here? "Do you have a phone I could borrow? I've got no cell service up here."

"I've got a phone, but I'm sorry, the lines are down with this weather." The man gestured to a device that looked circa 1980s.

"There's no place to rent a car here, right?"

"Nope. Sorry."

"That's alright...uh, thanks for your help."

"Sure, good luck finding your girlfriend."

Morgan considered correcting him, but decided it wasn't worth the effort or time. If he couldn't find her in this town, he'd find away to contact Hotch and have the place swarming with Bureau.

He dove back into the cold and the snow, and surveyed the area. Culver was a very small town, and he seemed to be near the center of it. Motel, bank, post office (closed), diner, grocery store, clothing store, bookstore, church, and a bar. That's it. He started with the motel, and steadily worked his way through every open establishment in the town.

* * *

JJ glanced at her watch anxiously, it was almost five and still no word from Morgan or Emily. They'd left at 10 that morning, they should have been back by now, or at least called to say they were stuck somewhere waiting out the snowstorm. They hadn't called and they're phones kept going straight to voicemail. She wouldn't have been so worried if New England from the coast through Vermont wasn't being swept by a blizzard (they'd finally caved and determined it was a blizzard around 2:00). Visibility wasn't even a foot, and it wasn't safe to drive.

"Yes, thank you, I appreciate that." Hotch closed his phone as he entered the room, and earned the attention of two of his three colleagues. "State police will keep an eye on the roads, and I had Garcia file an APB on their SUV and descriptions."

That was the best they could do, short of hoping and praying.

"If they stopped at a hotel, they could have called us on a land-line," JJ said, the thought that had really been bothering her.

"It's a blizzard, the lines are probably down. I'm sure they're fine, JJ," Rossi tried to reassure her.

Reid entered the room then, stowing his phone in his pocket. "They never got to the witness's house, and people are being warned to keep off the roads in her area."

"The phones are working there?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah, for now." Reid noted the heavy sighs, and fallen expressions.

"What if they were in an accident?" JJ asked.

Hotch sighed. "Then we've done everything we can for them." At her look, he explained, "It's too dangerous to go out looking, JJ."

She turned to Reid. "If they've crashed somewhere, what are their chances of surviving in this?" She nodded to the white swirl outside.

Reid opened and closed his mouth nervously. "Uh, I've been told statistics don't help in these situations."

"Tell me, Spence."

His eyes darted toward Hotch, unsure if he should. The Unit Chief nodded, though looked unhappy about it. "Um well, it's about ten degrees, and the wind has been steady at 35 to 40 mph, which puts the wind chill at -14 to -15, which if they stay in the car they should be protected from that. And, the car temperature was likely about 75, which will drop fairly quickly...they're both healthy adults, but they've been drinking coffee which will speed up their metabolisms, and they haven't eaten since breakfast at eight this morning, and-"

"Spence," she interrupted firmly, "Just give us a number."

He twitched nervously, calculating silently in his head, and hoping someone would interrupt, because he knew the figures would just upset her more. With her staring at him waiting, he finally had to answer. "If they stay in the car, mild hypothermia symptoms will likely set in within six hours, moderate symptoms would develop after that, and last anywhere from six to twelve hours...once severe symptoms set it, it will be quicker. Depending on when they crashed and how much gas they have, they could last until this time tomorrow. If they stay in the car."

He decided not to mention that if they left the car, they'd be dead before morning.

"They're smart, and both are familiar with cold weather, they'll stay in the car, and we'll go find them tomorrow," Rossi insisted, wearing a mask of confidence.

"He's right. They're together, if they did get into an accident, they'll take care of each other," Hotch agreed.

JJ nodded. That did make her feel a bit better, at least they were together.

* * *

No one recognized the description, not one single person in the whole damn town had seen her. And, it was already dark and getting late.

Morgan trudged through the snow, which had at least stopped falling for now, and knocked on the door to the small service station. Regardless if they could have helped her, he thought he should check there anyway. He was really hoping he'd find her inside, hanging out with the owner and trying to stay warm.

"Hi there, didn't think anyone was out on the roads in this," a man greeted him, wiping hands stained with black grease on an already stained towel.

"Not many. Uh, I'm looking for a woman, brunette, name's Emily?" He asked.

The man shook his head. "Sorry, not many people came through today."

"She was with a long-haul trucker named Chuck?"

"Oh, Chuck I saw. He usually comes through here once a month or so, and stops for diesel."

Morgan released a breath. "Great, did you see him today?"

The man nodded enthusiastically. "Sure did, around noon I think."

"Was there a woman with him?"

"Woman? No, most truckers don't take their girls with them, and Chuck is no exception."

Morgan shook his head. "She's not his girlfriend."

"Well regardless, I didn't see any woman with him, never have." The guy shrugged.

"Alright, well if you do see her, can you let her know I'm in town, at uh...the bar."

"Sure will. I hope you find her."

Morgan nodded. "Thanks." Then he bundled against the cold and wind, and trudged back out into the snow.

The wind whipped against his cheeks as he forced his body forward against it, back toward the other side of town. It reminded him of Chicago winters, of walking a beat in the dead of winter, being out so long he was sure his toes would fall off. His mother had reprimanded him the first time he'd gone out without thermal underwear and thermal socks, and come home the next day with several sets for him. He'd been very grateful.

He fought the wind through the small town, back to the center-dubbed with little creativity, Main Street-and over toward the bar. A blast of hot air hit him when he opened the door, and a waitress saw him, and quickly ushered him inside. She took him to a table and promised him coffee before rushing off to get it. Morgan could feel the heat biting his fingers as his body began the slow process of defrosting. It made his face feel hot, and his toes sting, but it was a welcome feeling.

"Oh, honey you look like an ice pop," the waitress cooed at him, setting the coffee in front of him with a handful of creamers. "No luck finding you friend, then?"

"No, but I did determine that she definitely has to be in this town. The trucker left without her," he said.

She smiled. "That's great, she's probably riding out this god-awful weather in someone's home. You know small-town hospitality, we see someone freezing their bum off, we'll pull them inside."

"Yeah, that's what I'm hoping." He picked up the coffee. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Not like we've got too many other customers to tend too, at least none that aren't satisfied nursing a beer for a while." Her red hair was up in a messy bun, fastened it seemed with a pencil, and she wore a small waist apron over her jeans and green blouse.

"Is everyone here riding out the storm?"

"Not like you. They're all locals looking for company, no one likes to be alone during a storm, you know."

He nodded. There were about five guys hanging around the place, three older, two younger, plus the owner, who was a younger guy, and a female bartender. He bet most of them were wearing thermal underwear under their clothes.

Then Morgan saw it, dangling from the bartender's neck. His eyes were instantly drawn to it. A silver chain leading to a familiar grayish stone pendant that rested right above her breasts. A stone that, according to a imaginative old man, was mined in 19th century France.

The first hint of tension settled deep in his belly.


	3. Chapter 3

Morgan shoved his gloves in his pocket, and went up to the bar to get a closer look at the necklace. The black and white swirls mixed in the with gray were the same he'd been looking at earlier, it was definitely Emily's necklace.

"Excuse me," he called to the bartender.

She turned from her conversation, and moved close to him. "What can I get for you, handsome?"

"That necklace, where did you get it?"

She looked down at it, and shrugged. "Some rock and gem store a few towns over, why?"

"No, you didn't."

"Excuse me?" She moved back, hands going to her hips.

"I've been looking for the woman that necklace belongs to, and I need to know where you got it." He tried to keep calm, keep his voice level.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Damn it," he hissed. "She could be in trouble, I need to know who gave that to you."

"I told you where I got it, and I-"

He grabbed the pendant, ripped the necklace off her, and held it up to her face. "You did not get this from a store, someone took this off my friend! I need to know who!"

The other patrons turned, and began moving toward Morgan, all looking completely calm.

"We got a problem here?" One of the older guys asked.

"My friend came into this town and disappeared, this is her necklace, so I know someone abducted her. I just want to know where this necklace came from."

The man held a hand out. "Son, why don't you calm down. I'm sure your girlfriend is holed up in someone's house, keeping warm."

Almost the exact same thing the waitress said.

"I am not your son," he seethed. "I am an FBI agent, and so is the woman missing. If I don't start getting some answers, I will call our boss, and have the Bureau descend on this damn town like the wrath of god. Somebody better start giving me answers. Where. Is. Emily?"

Not one of them looked even remotely alarmed by that information.

A younger man, the owner, walked up to him then. "Sir, I think it's time you got out of my bar. There's a hotel next to the diner, they'll give you a room to sleep off whatever you're on."

"I'm not on anything, damn it! What is wrong with you people? A woman is missing!" Eyes wide, he looked from face to face, all looking weary and ready to throw him out.

"I will ask you again, sir, to take yourself out of my bar."

Furious and worried, he marched out of the bar then, surveying the area, before heading toward the diner. He walked inside, and picked a booth facing the bar, with a window that gave him a view of the parking lot. He would watch, and wait until the bartender decided to leave. He'd either follow her or corner her when she was alone.

Wherever she was, Emily was in serious trouble. He had to find her.

He just hoped he wouldn't he too late.

* * *

The storm was still swirling outside, having moved more fully to their area, and it served only to make the team worry more. Their investigation, such as it was, was at a standstill. If the storm impaired their investigation, it was likely it impaired the killer's activities as well, so they weren't too concerned about that. They were more worried about his reaction when the storm cleared, then they'd have their hands full again.

Now, they were stuck at the police station, and Hotch was watching his team struggle to focus on case files. He couldn't blame them. He was terribly worried. It was after nine, and still no word from Morgan and Prentiss. Their cell service was shaky, but still seemed to be functioning, and the Sheriff had dug up an old satellite phone that seemed to work even with the tempest outside. And, the internet seemed to be functioning, if barely. He kept a laptop on the table, ready to chirp and alert them if someone responded to the APB.

"This is useless," Rossi sighed, closing the file he wasn't reading. "Anyone have a deck of cards?"

Reid and JJ both closed their files and shook their heads. Reid looked at Rossi. "How about hangman?"

The older man looked at JJ, who shrugged. Rossi sighed and nodded. "That works. You pick the first word."

Reid flipped the pages of his legal pad over, and worked on drawing the gallows, while searching in his brain for a word. "You know the last hanging in the US was in 1996, Billy Bailey was executed in Delaware, their first hanging since the fifties. Before him were two men in Washington state in 1993 and 1994. Delaware actually sought advice from Washington, because none of them had ever participated in a hanging execution. And, the last public hanging was actually in 1936 in Kentucky, presided over by their first female sheriff."

JJ smirked. "Did you pick a word, Spence?"

"Huh, oh sure," he said, making lines to one side of the gallows. "Did you know that Michigan was the first state to abolish the death penalty in 1846?"

"Nope...is that seven spaces or eight?" Rossi tilted his head to study the lines.

"Sorry, it's eight." Reid hurriedly fixed the line.

"Noun, verb or adjective?" JJ asked.

"Adjective."

"E," Hotch guessed. They all looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to play. He ignored the looks.

Reid shrugged, and filled in two spaces with 'e'. The third and the seventh.

"A," JJ guessed.

Reid shook his head and drew a circle hanging from the line that was the hangman's rope.

"S," Rossi suggested.

"Nope." He drew a long stick for the body.

"L?" Hotch's incorrect guess earned them an arm.

"R."

Reid filled the second blank with an R. JJ smiled, thrilled to momentarily stop the hanging.

"T?"

He filled the sixth blank with a T, much to Rossi's relief.

Hotch studied the puzzle for a long minute. _RET_ _E_ "M?"

Reid started to shake his head when the lights suddenly flickered. They all looked up at the same time, seconds before the room was suddenly plunged into darkness, and a chorus of curses was heard from the cops out in the bullpen.

"Well, this is wonderful," Rossi sighed. "Do they have a back-up generator?"

A flashlight beam suddenly bobbed toward them, the sheriff poorly illuminated behind it. "That was the back-up."

"Do you know the specific cause of the black-out, Sheriff?" Hotch asked.

"Sure. The storm has been taking out trees all day, half the county already lost power. But, I was actually coming to tell you, the roads are too dangerous, it looks like you all will be camping here with us tonight."

"What about heat?" Rossi asked.

"There's wood stove in the back, we're going to camp out there. We've got blankets, radios and water. This isn't the first time we've been caught like this-I already had my men collect every family without a fireplace and move them to the hotel."

Hotch nodded. "We'll join you soon. Thanks." The Sheriff nodded in return, and headed back out toward his men.

JJ was already dialing Garcia, and flicking her onto speaker.

She came in fuzzy. "Please tell me they called in," she begged.

"Not yet," JJ answered. "We just lost power at the station. The laptop battery carries-" she turned to Hotch and he held two fingers, "two hours, so we need you to monitor the APB tonight. Based on what the Sheriff said, we'll be dark all night."

"I've already been monitoring it, and every hospital in that state. No one matching either of their descriptions yet, which is good and bad...I'm worried."

"I know, so are we."

"You all stay safe, alright? I can only handle once crisis at a time."

JJ sighed. "Shouldn't be a problem, we aren't going anywhere anytime soon."

* * *

Emily shivered violently, and pressed herself closer to the cinder-block wall. Her jaw was tense as she tried to keep her teeth from chattering, and her hair was a wet mop plastered to her head and dripping down her back. Her wrists were locked into a leather cuff, and hooked to the wall. It was too thick to chew through, and too well-designed to wriggle herself loose.

They'd taken her cell phone, ID, gun, coat, shoes, socks, watch and necklace. Her bare feet were already scraped from the chipped concrete floor, her toes curled under with tension. She could still smell the sour acidity of the water she'd half-coughed, half vomited up earlier. A little bit of breakfast had come with the water.

Prentiss had no idea what time it was, or how long she'd been there. She came too briefly in the cab of the truck to see a face that wasn't Chuck's grinning down at her. Then she'd been tasered back into unconsciousness. She had two sets of marks on her neck that looked almost like vampire bites, and were still sore. Other than that, they hadn't hurt her in any way that would leave a mark.

She tugged on the cuff, and coughed violently just from that effort. And, Morgan was still stuck in the SUV, likely freezing to death. She couldn't help him, she couldn't even say she was sorry that she couldn't send help for him. She felt the first hint of warmth in hours, hot tears slowly falling down her cheeks. She could handle whatever these assholes threw at her, but not being so completely powerless to help him.

She heard the locks on the door being turned, and quickly wiped the moisture from her face. The lights went on, and temporarily blinded her; she blinked furiously as her eyes adjusted. Their heavy footfalls on the steps pushed even more tension into her already ridged frame. She turned to her tormentors, a heavily muscled man with a neck that was almost as wide as his head, and a man that might have been described as metro-sexual. He was well dressed, with hair slathered in gel and slicked back, and neatly trimmed facial hair. He also smelled heavily of cologne, whereas Mr. Muscles could have used a stronger antiperspirant.

Muscles grabbed her shoulders and held her still, while Cologne worked on the lock the cuff. He slid if from her wrists, letting it fall back against the wall, and took her wrists in his hands, gently massaging them with this thumbs. Emily tugged against him, pushing her body hard against the wall, but he just held firmer.

He tried to catch her eyes, and Emily resisted, turning her head away, and unfortunately toward muscles. Cologne grabbed her chin, and forced her to look at him.

"I've already told you several times, you are to look at me when I speak to you." His tone was condescending, like he was warning a naughty child.

"Get your hands off of me." She struggled against both of them, but they held her still.

"Don't make this unnecessarily difficult," he said. She glared defiantly. He sighed. "What's your name?"

The same damn question they'd been asking the entire time she'd been there. Her answers had been varied, refusing to give them what they wanted. She gave them the same response she'd started to give an hour ago. "Emily."

He squeezed her chin hard. "No, it isn't. Tell me now, what is your name?"

Emily stared up at him, into hazel eyes with brown flecks, eyes as blank and cold as any psychopath. She spit in his face.

He leaned back and dropped her chin, before wiping dramatically at her spittle. He nodded to muscles, and Emily knew exactly what came next. With an almost painfully tight grip on her shoulders, he half-pushed, half-dragged her over to the large basin of water in the corner of the basement, and forced her to her knees. She landed hard, her body weakened from the cold, the tasering, and the sessions they'd already had.

"One more chance, what is your name?"

She glared at him. "Emily, and that isn't going to change."

"Wrong. Your name is Briar. You will learn that, sooner or later." He nodded to Muscles.

And, just like the last three times, he pushed her face into the water, and held it down. She held her breath as long as she could, before her lungs began to burn. She opened her mouth and began to gag. Suddenly, she was yanked up and gulped air for only seconds before he pushed her head back into the water. She chocked and gagged as water made it's way to her lungs. He yanked her out again.

"Name," Cologne spat.

She gasped and coughed until she could breathe enough to respond. "Emily."

Another nod, and she was inhaling water again. He pulled her up, gave her mere seconds to breathe, and pushed head back into the water. Then back out.

"Name."

Chest heaving and aching with the struggle, she spat the same word. "Emily."

And, another nod.

* * *

_So, it might seem a bit insensitive that the team is playing hangman while their teammates are missing, but keep two things in mind: there's a blizzard and nothing they can do, and they don't know how much trouble their teammates are actually in. _

_Thank you everyone who reviewed! _


	4. Chapter 4

Morgan watched light flurries trickle from the sky. The blizzard had completely stopped around midnight, and then the flurries had started an hour later, but it was so light, it was hardly noticeable. It was just after two a.m., and it looked like the bar was sending people back home. The wind wasn't as bad, and they were all walking home anyway. He continued to sit in the diner, staring at the window, and ignoring the cup of coffee in front of him. After the scene at the bar, he wasn't trusting anything from this town.

He sighed, and glanced down at the necklace still grasped in his hand. The stone Emily's grandfather had given her that had been on her neck only hours ago. He was afraid of what it meant, that it wasn't dangling from her throat anymore. Someone had have taken it off her, and for that to happen she had to be incapacitated. If she wasn't incapacitated, she was already dead. He fingered the stone, feeling the thin crevices, the slight imperfections slide under his thumb.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light in front of the bar go dark. Morgan tossed a five dollar bill on the table, bundled himself, and went back out into the frigid night. The wind had died, but so had the sun, and it left the town cold and dark. And, more unnerving than any city street at night.

Morgan moved stealthy toward the bar, stopping and hiding beside the dumpster when he got close. The owner bid the bartender goodnight, and climbed into his car. The bartender, a blond that was probably in her mid-twenties, walked back to the front of the bar, and seemed to be waiting for someone. He was about to walk over to her when a man appeared from the opposite side, and pecked her on the lips.

He wore thick boots and a dark, puffy down-filled coat, with what looked like blue coveralls underneath. Mechanic's uniform maybe? The young man threw an arm around the girl, and they walked off toward the residential part of town. Morgan followed them, keeping his footsteps quiet. After a few minutes, he was close enough to hear their voices.

"What do you mean someone took it?" The man asked.

"I told you he recognized it, knew it was his girlfriend's. He tore it clear off my neck, he was so pissed. I wasn't about to argue to get it back...I told you I shouldn't have been wearing it, not yet. We always wait a month," she insisted.

_Always_?What the hell did that mean? Whatever they did with Prentiss, they did as a regular hobby? Was the whole town in on it, or just the people at the bar?

"Well, I figured it was safe this time. Chuck told Jake that they crashed back at the stone pile, that guy should have frozen to death there. We didn't expect anyone to come through and pick him up."

Chuck, as in the truck driver? The fucking truck driver was in on it? God, and he'd sent her off alone with him! Oldest goddamned story in the psychopath book. _Never take a ride with a stranger._

"Well, they were wrong. He's here in town, and he's a fucking FBI agent, Tommy. He's going to bring them in here, and we're all going to get it." The girl sounded freaked.

"She's FBI too. Chuck didn't know when he picked her up, by then it was too late. But, don't worry, Katie, they're getting rid of her later tonight."

"That quickly? Don't they need more time?"

He shook his head. "Ideally, but they can't risk it. They can't keep an FBI agent around."

"Chuck is a moron."

"What do you want from the guy? This is his first screw up in five years."

Morgan didn't stick around to hear the rest, he knew enough to know where to get more information. He couldn't believe the guy had lied straight to his face, and so easily. He was furious, and he wasn't opposed to using physical violence to get the information he needed. Prentiss didn't have time for anything less.

* * *

She couldn't breathe. Water went up her nose and burned, causing her to cough, and accidentally inhale water. She sputtered pathetically in the water until Muscles yanked her out, and she coughed and inhaled great gasps of air. Her knees rubbed raw against the floor, and her back ached from being bent over again and again.

"Name," Cologne snarled at her, his patient tone having completely disappeared.

"F-F-Fuck you."

Then she was gagging on water again, feeling the ache as it slid down the wrong pipe, and the burn in her nostrils. Suddenly, there was air, and her lungs were stinging as she coughed around the water she'd inhaled.

"Last chance, what is your name?"

Emily barely got her mouth open before deciding she just didn't have the energy to speak. She simply shook her head.

He nodded.

She felt the unbelievably painful pressure build up in her lungs, and she fought instinctively to get out of the water. Muscles held her tight. He held her as the pressure in her skull tightened and created a sharp ache, until she stopped fighting and the world began to get fuzzy. Then he yanked her back up, and pushed her onto the floor.

Cologne stood beside her, knelt with his knee pressing into her back, holding her against the floor, constricting her lungs as she struggling to breath around the coughing. "You have two choices here, you either learn your name or you die. You won't have many more chances, Briar."

And, then the pressure was gone, and Emily pushed herself to her hands and knees just quick enough for the violent coughing to turn into vomiting. Not far from the slightly older piles of vomit. Considering they weren't feeding her, she was going to run out of stomach contents to puke up soon.

Muscles grabbed her shoulders roughly, and yanked her back to the wall, where Cologne fastened her into the leather cuff. It was welcome now, a relief. The chill of the hard stone wall was a relief against the furnace in her face, well it was worst in her face, and the wall meant a break before the next water-boarding session. She was getting very weak, weaker than she'd ever felt in her life.

Her body spasmed violently as she coughed, a thick wet hacking that spoke of the untold damage tweedle dee and tweedle dum didn't know they were creating. She pressed herself into the wall, the only force keeping her upright, and shivered so violently her bones ached with it. She was burning with fever, she'd realized that a couple sessions ago.

What had this been? Ten? Twelve? It was hard to tell, her sense of time was so skewed. It could have been hours, or it could have been days, she had no way of knowing. It kind of made her wonder who would actually die first, her or Morgan? If it had only been hours, she was definitely going to die first, if it had already been days, then Morgan was already dead.

Had the team found him yet? Were they looking for her? Were they wondering why she'd left him there alone? Oh god, they couldn't tell Garcia that news over the phone, but they couldn't wait to deliver it either. They'd have to make sure Kevin was there to pick up the pieces when she came apart.

The team was strong, she decided; they could get through this. And with that, Emily let her eyes drift closed, and her exhausted, abused body pull her into the land of nod.

* * *

Morgan pounded on the door, fist slamming into the wood over and over again, fury pumping through his veins. When it opened, he pushed his way inside the small apartment, and had Jake up against a wall, his forearm pressing against the man's throat in seconds.

"Where is she?" He demanded, words almost hissing through his clenched jaw.

"Whoa, the fuck are you talking about man?" Jake was startled, eyes wide, hands in the air defensively.

"Emily, where is she? What did you people do with her?"

"I told you, I haven't seen your girlfriend, man!"

"I know that isn't true. I know you know the truck driver, Chuck, I know he told you that she's an FBI agent, I know that you're trying to get rid of her tonight. Now, tell me where the hell she is, or I swear I will tear this place apart until I find her." He pressed his forearm harder against the man's throat.

Jake leaned toward him, and spoke slowly. "I don't know a Chuck. A lot of truck drivers pass through here, I might have spoken to him, but I don't remember."

Morgan stood in the hallway of the apartment above the office of the town's only full-service garage, and seriously contemplated breaking the man's neck. He'd never killed anyone in cold blood, and he didn't want to start, but if the mechanic didn't start telling him the truth, he might make an exception.

He pushed his face into Jake's, barely millimeters away, pressed his forearm just short of completely cutting off the man's oxygen supply. "I will say this once, and once only, man. You need to tell me where she is, and what you and your buddies have been doing up here, or so help me, I will snap your windpipe."

Jake didn't offer comment, so Morgan continued to slowly press his forearm harder and harder against the man's throat, until his breath was cut-off, and he was struggling to breathe.

"Alright," he wheezed out, waving his hands at Morgan. He loosened his grip, letting the man breathe, but maintained his grip.

"Where."

"They usually keep the girls as Josh Thompson's place. He lives toward the other side of town, Oak street, number 215."

Morgan nodded. "What do you do with them?"

Jake opened his mouth and waved his hands defensively. "I don't do anything, except handle the exchanges from Chuck to Josh or the boys."

The profiler stared at the mechanic, noting his expensive gold watch, something he apparently didn't wear while working. He glanced away briefly to study the apartment, or at least the living room, the only part he could see. It was shabby, but the expensive stero system and PS3 gaming system was as obvious a give-away as the watch. "Now, I know that's not true. They wouldn't pay you so well if you weren't involved more than that. I'm thinking you get an equal share."

"Yeah, because I risk my business as a front for the exchanges. Chuck stops by for an engine check-up, and while he's pulled into the garage, I take the girl, and hide her, until the others can come get her. That's it, I swear." He squirmed nervously, under Morgan's angry gaze.

"What do you do with them, the girls you kidnap?"

Jake looked away. "We sell them to wealthy foreign businessmen who want entertainment for their clients."

Morgan's breath caught. "Human-trafficking? You people kidnap women and force them to be prostitutes? How the hell do you sleep at night?" He didn't answer, and it was rhetorical anyway, so Morgan pressed on. "Who's buying Emily?"

"I don't know. That's not my department."

His tone was so snotty Morgan wanted to slap him, instead he began to loosen his grip, now armed with the information he needed to save his friend. But, he had one more question. "You're getting rid of her quickly, but you usually need more time, for what?"

"_I _don't need more time for anything. They do, they have to break the girls before they sell them."

* * *

_So I'm curious, did anyone figure that out? _

_I'm sorry I haven't responded to any reviews on this story, I usually try to respond to some, but I've been very busy and I'm honestly feeling a little overwhelmed. I do appreciate each and every one of them, and the response to this story has been awesome. So, thank you all for those, for reading, and to whoever reviews this chapter. _

_And, to anyone waiting on the next Addy story, don't expect it before next week at the earliest. _


	5. Chapter 5

Garcia pushed her glasses up on her nose, and shifted some of her loose red locks behind her ears. One screen was regularly refreshing to show updates on the nasty weather hitting New England. Most of the other screens were showing information from the case. Her last screen, which she was trying very hard not to stare at, was rigged to beep when someone responded to the APB on a black SUV, or the two FBI agents inside it.

She sipped from her fourth cup of coffee, one of two things keeping her awake at almost three in the morning. The other was a whopping dose of worry. First Derek and Emily vanish off the face of the Earth, and then the town loses power, and the rest of her team is stranded, trying to keep warm at the police station. Okay, so maybe that in and of itself wasn't that dangerous, but when she's already worried? It made it feel worse than it was, and she couldn't help it.

Garcia was wound up so tight, that when her computer did ding, she jumped hard enough to get her ass an inch off the seat. She landed with a hand on her chest, and softly mumbling to herself to calm down. Shaking her head, Penelope swung over to the monitor she'd been studiously ignoring, too nervous to hope for much. She tapped a couple keys and brought up the state police. She read the report, and blindly dialed a familiar number with one hand.

It rang twice before her sleepy voice answered, "Jareau."

"Jayje?" Her voice cracked.

"Garcia? Are you crying?"

"No, well not yet. I, I got a hit on the APB."

"And? What's wrong?" The agent was wide awake now, voice alert and still somehow calm."

"The state police found their SUV. They crashed head first into a stone wall, the entire nose of the car is destroyed, both air bags deployed, but the SUV was empty. Derek and Emily weren't in it."

JJ was silent for a beat. "Was there blood in the car?"

"Uh..." She scanned the report again. "Nothing significant enough for them to mention."

"That's good. That means they weren't severely injured, Pen...do you have the contact number for the precinct?"

Garcia nodded, but her eyes still burned. "Yeah, but where are they then? And, I sent it to your phone."

"I don't know, maybe somebody picked them up."

"Then why haven't they called?"

"Storm probably knocked out the phone lines."

"Then they could have gotten hold of a cop with a radio. If they could have, they would have found a way to contact us, wouldn't they?"

JJ sighed. "I don't know, it's a bad storm, maybe they decided finding shelter was enough."

Garcia could hear the worry in her friend's voice. "Jayje...they were in an accident, what if they have head injuries? What if they got stuck there, and got hypothermic and confused? What if they wandered out of the car, and..." She didn't even finish, her voice cracking, and tears finally sliding down her face.

"They aren't dead, Garcia. We'll find them...Hang on." She could hear JJ speaking to someone else, probably Hotch, by the sound of it, before getting back on. "Send me the address of where the SUV was found, we're going to try and get some dogs together, and go looking for them."

Garcia tapped some keys. "Sent it to you and Hotch. Be careful, alright?"

"We'll drive slow. I'll try to keep you updated, but I can't make any promises with regard to reception. Don't panic if you don't hear from us, okay?"

"I can't make any promises. I want all my crime-fighters back safe."

"We'll do our best," JJ said, and then the line cut.

Garcia wiped at the tears falling down her cheeks in steady streams, and put her mind back into the material she was searching through for the case. That was a distraction, a good distraction, because she was accomplishing something with it. In fact, she got so distracted, a half hour passed before she got up for another cup of coffee, and ran smack into Kevin.

She landed against his chest with a thud, and looked up with big, surprised eyes. He looked startled, and rather sleepy, but he smiled at her.

"JJ called me, and said you needed some company."

Garcia plastered herself against him, burying her face in his shoulder. "She's getting a big thank you when she gets back."

* * *

Emily was clinging to the wall like a lost child, and trying to keep her senses by profiling her assailants. She kept her forehead pressed to the cool cinderblocks, and tried to think around her pounding headache, and her body's violent shivering.

Okay, there wasn't much to Muscles. He was a mercenary, doing what they told him to do for a wad of cash. Cologne was calling the shots, at least down here, but she got the feeling he had a boss to answer to as well. He didn't just want to change her name, he wanted her to acknowledge that her name was different. He wanted to remove her identity. Why would he want to do that?

Alright, back-up. So far, there's no discernible signature, but there is an MO. They don't do the abductions themselves, but they do handle the torture...yes, torture. Water-boarding is torture. Torture is used to get information, to breakdown someone's resistance, someone's entire being, so they'll tell you whatever you want. That's why it isn't that effective, people will say anything to make it stop. They want to break her, but why? Victimology.

She nodded with her own thoughts, and then erupted in a coughing attack. There was an unpleasant rattle already forming deep in her chest.

She could do this. Victim is a 39 year-old female, white, lower middle-class, but she's also an FBI agent, that's risky. Chuck didn't know that though, she was just a woman in a broken-down car. That's what he was after. He picked her because she was convenient. Would he have sold Morgan to these idiots, if he'd gone instead? She didn't think so, she got the feeling they were specifically after women. She'd heard Cologne comment that she was older than the usual, but still cute.

So, why kidnap women? The most obvious answer was sex, but they hadn't tried that yet with her. And, if all they wanted to do was rape her, she was plenty weak enough to not put up much of a fight, FBI training or no. They wanted her broken, they wanted her to be submissive. Why? Why...why...shit.

They were back, her body's instant tensing at the sound of their shoes was enough to tell her that. And, they were going to take her back to the water. Should she just give in? It couldn't be worse than this, whatever they had planned for her. And maybe, maybe if she could get away then, and go find Morgan. She maybe, maybe still had time to save him.

"She doesn't look so good." Muscles was staring at her, looking almost confused.

Cologne crouched down, and studied her, holding her chin to tilt her head, and then feeling her forehead. "She's got a fever. They'll fix her on the plane."

"Plane?" She croaked weakly.

He ignored her question. "What's your name?"

Plane sounded bad. Maybe giving in wasn't such a good idea, but Morgan... Suddenly, muscles was grabbing her and dragging her over to the basin.

"No! No, don't, don't!" She was suddenly pleading, almost without thinking. She was already on her knees, Muscles hand on her head, ready to push her under.

"Say it, that's all you need to do, and we'll stop this."

Emily coughed violently, her whole body jolting with it, before she wheezed in a breath. "Briar. My name is Briar."

He waved Muscles away, and helped her off her ground, lips curved in a pleased smile. He ran a hand over her wet hair, and whispered in her ear. "Good girl."

* * *

Morgan found himself pounding on another door, except that nobody answered this one. Fortunately, he carried a skeleton key that worked on every door in the world, well, maybe not every, but any that he needed to open. He drew back his leg, and slammed it forward, sending the door flying open. Drawing his weapon, Morgan slowly entered, and cleared each of the rooms, before heading upstairs and doing the same.

No women. No trace of any women ever being here. No Emily.

He checked for an attic, but couldn't find an entrance to one. He tapped the ceiling, and called to her. "Prentiss! Prentiss!"

Convinced she wasn't in some hidden attic, he headed back downstairs, and searched for a door to a basement. He went outside to examine the foundation, and determined the house was built without a basement. Morgan kicked the siding several times, cursing the world, before rushing back into the house.

Then he began systematically tearing the place apart.

"If I was a creep that kidnapped women, where would I hide the information on my clients?" He asked aloud, getting himself into the part.

Computer. He checked the den, the bedrooms, the living room, kitchen, but there wasn't a single computer in the house. Returning to the den, he examined the desk for signs of a cable or modem hook-up. He might have taken the laptop with him, but there should have been signs that he used the internet. There wasn't.

Morgan was about to start tearing through the drawers, when a sound alerted him that he wasn't alone. Feet on the stairs, trying to be quiet as they entered, but not quiet enough, he could still hear them. His body tense, Morgan pulled his gun from his holster, and aimed it toward the ground, inching stealthy toward the door. Once close enough, he took up position, gun aimed at the door.

At first it just creaked quietly inward, before the figure behind it slammed the door open, leveling his rifle at Morgan.

The man had to be pushing seventy-five, but his hunting garb suggested he knew how to use the rifle. Clean-shaven and thin, but his shoulder's never shook; old he might be, but this man was still strong.

_

* * *

Thanks very much for reading, and please review!_


	6. Chapter 6

"Just what do you think you're doing rummaging through my home, son?" The man demanded.

"I was told this is the home of Josh Thompson." Morgan kept his weapon leveled, though this man didn't strike him as capable of abducting women and selling them into slavery.

"It is. I'm Josh Thompson. Why are you looking for me?" He eyed Morgan through a wrinkled, weather-worn face.

"Are you familiar with Jake, the man who runs the mechanic's shop?"

"Sure, I was good friends with his daddy, he used to be a good kid. Now, he and his friends are just trouble. Why? What's he done?"

Something was definitely not right here. "He sent me here, sir. He told me you're involved in the little side business he's got going."

"Side business? Son, does it look like I've got extra cash coming in?"

Morgan already knew from his earlier observations that it did not. "I think I've been given bad information."

Josh began to lower his weapon. "I'd say so. Why don't you tell me who you are, and what you were looking for?"

He nodded, allowing his posture to relax, and lowering his weapon, but not putting it away. "Derek Morgan, I'm a federal agent with the FBI."

The old man's eyes widened. "And, what can an old man like me do for the FBI?"

"My partner has been abducted by Jake and his friends. They are going to sell her tonight, and I have to find her before they do."

He reared back. "Sell her? To who, for what?"

"I don't know who, but they're human-traffickers, they sell women into forced prostitution. Do you know anywhere he and his friends hang out? Where they might hide women?"

The old man looked lost. "I don't really know. The old Tyler place has been abandoned for a while, I suppose they could hide someone there."

"Where's that?" Morgan asked eagerly.

Josh explained the directions quickly, jotting down the address for him, then he waved Morgan to follow him. The profiler followed him down the stairs, holstering his weapon, but not clipping the holster shut, just in case.

Josh handed him a set of keys. "I've got a bike out back, take that."

Morgan stared at him surprised, before uttering a quick thank you and tearing out the door.

It wasn't a motorcycle, but a dirt bike with good treads. Not exactly what you want to being riding around in, in the winter, but it would have to do. Morgan was carefully zooming along for less than ten minutes when the bike suddenly died. A quick check told him it was completely out of fuel. Shit.

He looked back toward the house, hopped off the bike, and started running it back, hoping the old man would have some fuel lying around. His feet crunched underneath the snow quietly, and the flurries were still coming down like he the town was stuck in a snow globe. Still, approaching the house, he could make out Josh leaving, locking the front door, a device in his hand that could have been a PDA, and another, bigger device, pressed to his ear. He got closer as Josh headed to his truck, and he could hear the tail end of his second call.

Josh was speaking Spanish. On a satellite phone.

* * *

Emily stumbled, cough shaking her weak body as they dragged her up the stairs. They unlocked the basement door, and pulled her into the well-lit first floor of a house. The brightness startled her, and she ducked away from it, shielding her eyes. It made the throbbing in her head that much worse, and turned her awkward moves to flat-out clumsy.

"Come on, walking isn't that hard," Cologne reprimanded her.

He tugged on her arm, roughly pulling her into a room with a carpeted floor. It wasn't open like a living room or dining room, the only way in was a door. Cologne let go of her and Muscles pushed her forward, shutting the door behind himself. She was so tired, she moved over to the sofa in the room, and fell into it, resting her head on the arm. Up in the house, where it was warm, her face felt hot, but she still shivered from the fever.

Cologne stepped toward her, and dropped a dress on the couch, and shoes on the floor beside her feet. They were simple black heels, probably about three inches tall, shiny patent leather. He pulled her into a sitting position, and looked at her, bringing his face close to hers.

"You're going to be a good girl, Briar, and you're going to change into these. If you don't, I'll help you, and you won't like that. Understand?"

Emily shook her head, cough cutting the action off, as she bent over from the force of the rattle in her chest.

Cologne pulled her upright again, and grabbed the hem of her sweater, tugging it above her head, against Emily's resistance. He waved Muscles to help, and then only let her go when it was off. Emily curled into herself, protecting her body in its lack of dress. She shivered even harder, as the air hit her bare skin.

He made to grab her again, but Emily pulled away. "No. I'll do it."

Cologne nodded, and moved away, gesturing Muscles that it was okay to give her space.

Emily picked up the deep red fabric next to her, searched until she located the tag in the back, and slipped it over her head. Reluctantly, she unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, wiggling out of them, and yanking the dress down to where it fit properly. It barely covered her butt. It was also strapless, cinched up and down both sides, and stretchy so that it hugged every curve and left little to the imagination. She was surprised to find the shoes actually fit her, and her stomach turned wondering how many outfits they kept around for these purposes.

"Bra needs to come off," Cologne instructed.

Knowing he'd do it for her if she didn't do it herself, Emily unclipped her bra, and pulled it off, letting it drop into the pile of her clothing. He smiled, and put a hand on her back, leading her out of the room.

They went into the living room, where he put her on a love-seat near a crackling fireplace, and told her to get comfortable. She could see through the windows that it was dark out, and the moon was in the sky. Nighttime. But, which night?

Muscles came in, and opened the fire screen, tossing in her pants, blouse, and bra. He grabbed the fire poker, and moved the clothes so that everything was burning before closing the screen, and returning the poker to the caddy. The caddy that was on the opposite side of the room, beside where Muscles positioned himself. Damn.

Weak as she was, she still could have done some damage with that thing.

She might have missed the knock on the door if Cologne hadn't gotten up to answer it. She heard voices as they came back into the room, and she brought her tired head up to see their visitor.

He was an older man, with deep wrinkles in the rough skin of his face, and large hands, one of which clapped Cologne on the back like he'd done something well. He walked to the love-seat and crouched down in front of Emily, taking her chin in his hand. She watched his eyes travel from her legs, slowly up to her face, lingering on her cleavage. He looked hungry. And, easily old enough to be her father. It made her feel grimy.

"You are a pretty thing. Older than we usually aim for, but still a pretty thing. No wonder he's trying so hard to find you." His voice was low, and a little rough.

She started "What?"

"Don't you worry about that, he's occupied right now." He smiled and stroked her hair. His hot breath hit her face, and his eyes kept drifting south. He wanted to have sex with her, but something was stopping him.

She was incredibly grateful for whatever that something was.

"What times is Forero's plane coming in, Josh?" Cologne asked.

"An hour, so we should leave for the airfield now." He reluctantly dropped his hand from her face, and stepped back.

A knock startled them. 'Josh' glared at Cologne. "You expecting someone?"

The other man shook his head, and turned to Muscles. "Go see who it is, Kirby."

* * *

The man who opened the door was built like a body-builder, heavily muscled up top, but only natural muscle below the waist. Morgan didn't give him much of a chance to do anything, before slamming the butt of his glock down onto the man's head. He slumped to the ground unconscious, and Morgan dragged him over to one of the porch beams, and handcuffed his arms around it.

Good news, one guy taken care of. Bad news, he was already out of handcuffs.

He pushed the door open, gun drawn, just as man in his early thirties, hair slicked back heavily with gel, entered the hallway, dragging Emily behind him. Morgan's eyebrows shot up at her attire, but his face quickly took on a deep, penetrating scowl. Not just at the hooker dress, but the fact that she was stumbling weakly behind him, and looked half-way to passing out. And, her hair was wet.

"Do not move," he warned the man. Emily's head bobbed up in surprise, her eyes wide.

"So close," the man mumbled.

"Where's Josh?" Morgan asked.

"Right here." The old man suddenly appeared to Emily's left, pressing her glock to her head. "You're going to put your weapon down, or I'll fire a round into her skull."

Morgan looked at both men, and then at Emily between them, who looked more and more out of it as the minutes went by. But, she seemed to shake away the fuzziness, and look clearly into his eyes. She gave him a small, relieved smile, before in all of thirty seconds, ducking down, and slamming her arm into Josh's stomach.

He moved just as quickly, firing at the younger man, and then charging forward. Fit though he may have been, Josh was still old, and her hit took the wind out of him. Morgan pushed Emily out of the way, and thrust his weapon in the old man's face.

"Drop it."

Still struggling for breath, he did as told, and Morgan kicked the gun toward Emily, who was on all fours, coughing like she'd contracted the plague. Morgan had no handcuffs. Shit. With no other option, he knocked Josh in the head with his glock, rendering him unconscious. More movie protocol than FBI, but this was not a situation they trained for.

He rushed over to Emily. "Prentiss, hey, easy there," he coaxed, rubbing her back. He ignored the younger man who was moaning on the floor behind them, Morgan having only gotten him in the leg.

When she finally stopped coughing, she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "I thought you were dead."

"Right back at you," he said softly, holding her back, noting the shivers running through her body. But they couldn't stay that way long. "Come on, we have to get these two dealt with."

"There's a third one," she said. Morgan pointed at the door, and she seemed satisfied.

He moved then to Josh, removing the PDA from the man's jacket pocket and stowing it in his own coat. Grabbing Emily's hand and pulling her along with him, he rummaged around the kitchen until he located twine and a pair of scissors. When they got back to the hallway, Emily sank tiredly to the floor, and leaned back against a wall, while Morgan tied the two men up, both legs and feet.

"Hey! Hey! You can't tie my legs, you shot one of them!"

"Shut up," Morgan growled at him. But, still, wanting them alive and healthy enough to face trial for every woman they'd ever kidnapped, he snagged a dishtowel, and tied it over the leg wound to supply pressure.

He grabbed the satellite phone from Josh's pocket, helped Emily off the floor, and headed into the living room, moving them both to the love-seat by the fireplace. He didn't need to feel her forehead to know that she had a raging fever, the flushing in her face was enough. The deep pink over the sickly pallor of her skin. Morgan grabbed the afghan from the sofa, and wrapped it around Prentiss, making sure she was closer to the fire, hoping to quiet the trembling in her frame.

He almost sighed in relief when he got a dial tone, and with his body sagging with exhaustion, he dialed and leaned back into the love-seat. "Hotch, we need help."

* * *

_Obviously, it's not over yet, I think two or three more chapters. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing!_


	7. Chapter 7

They had piled into one SUV, and the Sheriff had kindly lent them some of his men and tracking dogs, who were following them in the K-9 SUV. He could only lend so many, with a storm, no power and a killer lose in his small town. Hotch appreciated whatever the man was willing to give. Garica's call and worried exchange with JJ had woken them all from their impromptu camp-out with the locals. It was still dark, but they had a lead and with the improved weather, every intention of following it. It took them a half an hour to get everything together to hit the road, a half hour in which they'd gone from sleepy to jumpy.

They were all worried about the same things Garcia feared, and Hotch could tell from the way everyone got fidgety fifteen minutes from the accident scene, they were all afraid of what they'd find. Even though JJ had tried hard to reassure Garcia, and insisted their team members would be fine, she sat in the back, eyes glassy with worry.

They were all so jumpy, that his phone ringing startled them all into physical reactions.

"Hotchner," he answered, with barely a glance at the unfamiliar number.

"Hotch, we need help."

"Morgan? What happened?" He demanded, sitting up straighter.

"It's a long story, but I need you to get the state police, emergency services and the Bureau's Human Trafficking Task Force to a little town called Culver." He sounded exhausted.

"What?" Hotch gaped. "Why do you need...Are you alright? Is Prentiss?"

"I'm fine. She's going to need a hospital, and antibiotics at least, and I shot an unsub in the leg. I'll explain the rest when you get here, but Hotch, do not trust a soul in this town. Not a single one of them."

"Alright, where's this town?" He listened to the directions, and parroted the address of the house to Reid, who was playing navigator. "Be careful, Morgan, we should make it there in less than half an hour."

They hung up, and he could feel the team looking at him. "They're both alive, but I have no idea what's going on."

Then he called everyone Morgan asked him to, and when he asked for the head of the HTTF in Boston, he could feel a palpable change in them, as they all wondered the same thing he was-what the hell had their friends gotten into?

And the location of the house, which they made it to in just under 25 minutes, didn't answer any more questions for them. The sun was starting to come up, and they could see that it looked like any other house, baring the unconscious man handcuffed to one of the porch columns.

"That...doesn't look good," Rossi said.

They all left the car with their guns drawn, and rather than knock, twisted the knob, and pushed inside, only to find another surprise. Two men tied at the feet and wrists, one unconscious, the other awake and moaning about a gunshot wound in his leg.

"Morgan!" Hotch called, as the moved past the men.

"In here!" They followed the voice to a bizarrely cozy living room, where a fire was going, and Morgan was sitting on the loveseat, looking exhausted. It took Hotch a minute to realize the lump of blanket curled up against him was Prentiss. Her dark hair was visible, but most of her was under a colorful afghan, and it looked like she was actually sleeping. Morgan had an arm protectively around her, and Hotch could see it tense at the commotion.

"JJ, go see if there's a first-aid kit in the car, Rossi, Reid go collect the man from outside, so he doesn't freeze to death." The three nodded, and headed off to do as they were told.

JJ came back first, kit in hand, but Reid and Rossi were right behind her, dragging the unconscious man inside to lay beside his compatriots. Once everyone was back, Hotch looked at Morgan. "Explain."

* * *

Morgan sighed, heavily, and began explaining how it started, as he rummaged through the kit for the thermometer. He found the thin glass tube in a paper envelope, and shook while he explained how he got from running helplessly around the town, to finding Emily at the house they were all in.

When he tried to put the thermometer in her mouth she groaned, and resisted his prodding, tugging the blanket further up on her body, much to the entire team's amusement.

"Come on now, I've just got to get this in your mouth," he coaxed, pulling the blanket away from her face, much to her annoyance. "Open your mouth and you get the blanket back."

She did as told, accepting the thermometer, and then ducking back underneath the blanket. Morgan rolled his eyes. Who knew she turned into a five year-old when she got sick?

He ran through the rest of the story, at least his end of it, and managed to condense it, so it went pretty quick. He'd have to give a more thorough statement later, but that would do for now.

He moved the blanket again, and gently pulled the thermometer from Emily's mouth. "Shit. It's over 104, she's going to need to be medivac'd if we can't bring that down."

"I'll grab ice water and a wash cloth," JJ volunteered.

"Grab a glass of water too," Morgan said, shaking a pack of advil in the air. JJ nodded, and disappeared toward the kitchen.

"So you have no idea what they did to her while she was here?" Rossi asked.

"Not a clue."

"Hotch! Morgan!" They heard JJ call from the kitchen. Hotch was already up, and Morgan was gently easing Emily off him, to lay on the loveseat.

Before leaving he looked at Reid. "Stay with her."

He found Hotch, JJ and Rossi staring at a door in the kitchen. It had two deadbolts on it, both of which served to lock someone in the basement, not out of it. All three men drew their guns, while JJ went back to trying to find a bowl and ice.

Rossi flipped the bolts open and yanked open the door, Hotch entered first, Morgan following, and Rossi taking up the rear. It was Morgan who found the light switch, and the three men slowly descended into the basement together. They carefully moved around the basement, clearing every nook and cranny, before investigating the more disturbing aspects.

Namely, the wall with a chain and leather cuff hanging off it.

"This has to be where they kept her," Hotch commented, voice level, but frown a little deeper than usual.

"And, every other woman they've abducted over the years," Morgan commented. He handed Hotch the PDA. "I pulled that off the old man, everything's password protected, but I bet that's has all his records."

"We'll get it to Garcia."

"Guys," Rossi called them over to a basin of water in the far corner, a couple of feet from the spigot likely used to fill it. "You see how the water is splashed all around?"

"Her hair was wet," Morgan commented.

"You think they made her bathe in it?" Hotch asked.

"No." Morgan pointed to several piles of vomit near the basin. "The first guy I talked to, he said something...they have to break them before they sell them."

"Water-boarding?" Rossi asked, voice high with surprise. "That's a little intense for some small town yokels."

"They don't have to know what it's called to use it," Morgan said.

Hotch nodded. "We'll need to get a forensics team out here."

They headed back upstairs then, leaving the door open for the team they'd send down. A shout from the living room had Morgan taking off, drawing his gun again, Hotch and Rossi behind him. He did not find what he expected.

Emily had plastered herself against the far edge of the loveseat, she was trying to watch in front of herself, but the violent coughing was making it difficult. Water was spilled on the upholstery and floor, the bowl spinning to a rest, the wash cloth hanging off the sofa. JJ had her hands up in the universal 'I'm not going to hurt you' sign, and she looked freaked. Reid was standing further back, his arms also raised, and just by looking, Morgan could tell his pulse was racing.

"What happened?" He asked.

"I...I don't know," JJ said. "She was fine, and then I pulled the bowl up to dip the wash cloth again, and she freaked."

Morgan holstered his weapon, and held his hands up, walking slowly over to the loveseat. He watched something flicker in Emily's eyes, before she unwound herself, and moved forward to hug him.

"I thought you were dead."

Morgan stiffed at the familiar words. Too familiar. He held her anyway, feeling her body jolt against his as she coughed, and turned to the others. "She said that to me earlier, when I first found her."

"She's delirious," Reid supplied.

"What does that mean?"

"It's a really bad fever...we need to bring down the fever or she could start to seizure."

Morgan glanced at JJ. "I don't suppose you got the advil in her?"

The blond shook her head, still looking a bit startled and upset.

Morgan considered his options and decided he had only one really viable one. He grabbed the afghan, and wrapped it back around his friend's shivering body. Then in one move, he swept her into his arms, and headed toward the front door, the team trailing nervously behind. She immediately tensed and started moaning in objection when they got outside. Morgan sat on the porch, and shifted Emily to sit beside him, leaning heavily on him.

"Cold, cold," she muttered.

"Yeah, well cold is what you need right now," he said, scooping up a handful of snow and holding it to her forehead. Emily jumped and tried to wiggle away. Morgan held her, and stared straight at her. "Prentiss, you are literally baking from the inside out, if you don't stop moving around, I'm going to take this blanket off, and toss your ass into the snow."

She looked so confused, and even a little he scared, he felt bad. He turned to Hotch. "You've got EMS on the way?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I called everyone you asked for. HTTF wants to know how the BAU got mixed up in their territory."

"Bad luck," Morgan said. He picked up more snow, and held in his hands, before shaking it out, and pressing one hand to Emily's burning forehead. She started at the cold, but didn't squirm away. He put his other hand on her back, just below her neck.

* * *

Rossi watched Morgan dip his hands back in the snow, and then reapply them to a still very out of it Emily. At least she didn't look freaked-out anymore, though she was still shivering and coughing, and her breathing sounding clearly labored. Then he noticed something-besides the tiny red dress her abductors had forced her into. He walked forward toward the pair, and shifted the blanket away for a better look.

Morgan looked at him questioningly, and he gestured with a finger to the small red marks on her neck. Four of them. "Looks like she was tasered."

"That explains how they got the better of her, it must have been that damn truck driver."

Rossi nodded, readjusting the blanket, as Morgan silently beat himself up. He wondered how long the younger man would be doing that for, at least until Emily got better was his guess.

The sounds of sirens finally hit their ears, and the whole team was immediately looking up, including Emily. She looked at Morgan.

"The team?" She asked, her speech clumsy for even just two words.

Morgan looked upset as he nodded and said. "Yeah, the team's here, princess."

The state police arrived first, followed closely by EMS. Hotch and JJ rushed to meet and greet with the cops, shaking hands and explaining what was going on. Rossi met the EMTs, and directed them over to Morgan and Emily. Reid met up with a second pair of EMTs when they arrived, and directed them inside to the man with the gunshot wound.

"Her fever was over 104, and she's already delirious," Rossi explained to the EMTs jogging toward the house with a gurney.

"Do you know when the fever set in?" One of them asked.

Rossi looked toward Morgan, who only shrugged. "Uh, she's a federal agent who was abducted sometime late yesterday morning, we think they were water-boarding her, but we don't know. She hasn't been lucid enough to question."

Eyebrows raised, the EMTs exchanged a look. "Alright then, what's her name?"

"Emily."

"Alright Emily, we're going to take your temperature." The older of the two EMTs, in his early forties maybe, had 'Ben' embroidered on his uniform. He pulled the blanket away, and stuck a thermometer in her ear. When it beeped, he showed his colleague with a frown. The other man ran back to the ambulance, and returned with his arms full.

"We need to get her on the gurney and cover her in cooling blankets. Her temp is 104.7, we need to get it down."

Rossi almost smirked when Morgan simply stood up, shifting Emily into his arms, and deposited her on the gurney. The EMTs slipped the blanket off her, and covered her with the cooling blankets instead, much to Emily's moaned protests and increased shivering.

"Did you give her tylenol, advil, anything?" Ben asked, and they started walking back tot he ambulance.

Rossi shook his head. "She's suffering from a bit of a water phobia."

"Alright. We've got her from here, closest hospital is-"

"No, take her to one closer to Pine Brook," Morgan instructed. "I don't trust anything within a twenty mile radius of this town."

The two EMTs nodded reluctantly, apparently not prepared to argue. "One of you riding along?"

"I'll go," Rossi volunteered, and then turned to Morgan. "You need to stay here, and explain everything."

"Yeah, I know. Do not leave her side for anything, and call us when you know something."

Rossi nodded, and hopped up to sit beside Emily, waving to Morgan as the doors closed. Ben had slipped an oxygen mask over her face, and was starting an IV; Emily had stopped moaning, but was still shivering under the cooling blankets.

Rossi looked at the EMT. "She's going to be alright, right?"

"She should be, we just need to get that fever down." Not the most comforting words, but enough to make it through the ride to the hospital.

Doctors were waiting as soon as they arrived, yanking the doors open, and helping unload the gurney, rushing it inside. Ben ran alongside, explaining in heavy medical jargon what was going on. All Rossi managed to grasp was that her vitals were a little high, but he'd gotten her temperature down to just under 104.

A nurse escorted him to a waiting room, and put a clipboard in his hands. Rossi carefully filled in what knew, and returned it to the nurse. She thanked him, and sent him back to wait. Perfect.

* * *

_So, I underestimated how busy I'd be now, and forgot I'd have a final exam this coming week, so the next chapter might not be up until a week from now. And, the story is almost over, one more chapter and an epilogue I think. Thank you again to everyone who's reviewed, and sorry I'm not responding to many, again I do appreciate each and every one. And thank you everyone for reading.  
_

_Anyone that's also waiting for the next Addy story, I'm hoping hoping today or tomorrow, but like this, the chapter after that is going to be delayed a week. Sorry, that's just the nature of the holiday season. _


	8. Chapter 8

JJ was outside the house, waiting on the HTTF agents from the Boston office, which was the closest field office, to arrive. Hotch and Morgan were inside, Morgan going over the story in more detail, while CSU swarmed around them, pulling the house apart. Their two suspects had regained consciousness, and were in a third ambulance, heading toward their state required medical check-up. A patrol car was following each of the ambulances with their suspects.

The remaining police officers had been sent to raid the auto shop and bar, and question the other locals in town. It wasn't quite seven o'clock, and the sky was clear for the first time in two days. The snow clung to the trees over glistening sheets of ice, and made the whole place look like a winter wonderland.

Then JJ realized something. No one had called Garcia yet. Crap.

"Did you find them?" Garica's worried voice demanded, the atypical greeting a sure sign that she'd been practically frantic for the last couple hours.

"Yeah, sorry. Morgan called just before we got to the accident site, directed us to a town. We're still here waiting for the local field office to arrive, and...dealing with this mess."

"Mess? What happened?"

"To make a long story short," JJ started and then sighed. There was just no way to make this story short. "Alright, you can call Morgan in a while, and get the full story out of him, but we did find them."

"Are they're okay?"

"Morgan's a little shaken up I think, and definitely a little paranoid right now, but he's fine. Rossi is at the hospital with Emily, she's...very sick."

"What does that mean? What kind of sick? What hospital?" JJ could already hear her typing frantically.

"St. Mary's on the Hill." Rossi had called twenty minutes ago to say they got there, and he still knew nothing. "She has a high fever, bad cough, she was delirious for awhile."

"She-whoa, what?"

JJ tried to calmly explain what happened, but every little gasp from Garcia made the worried tension in her stomach tighten even more.

"Hang on, I got into her file at the hospital. Blood tests, sputem culture-that sounds like fun-chest x-rays, uh, it looks like they've got her on oxygen, saline, and um, broad spectrum antibiotics. They don't have any test results posted yet."

JJ smiled. "Sometimes what you can do scares me."

"I do it out of love."

"Well, while your fingers are dancing, can you pull up some information for me?"

"Sure, shoot."

"Every woman that's gone missing within a 20 mile radius of Culver, Massachusetts, keep it between the ages of 16 and 45, for the last ten years. And, as soon as the field office gets here with some tech gear, we're going to need you to pull some information off a PDA." Hotch still had it, and he'd called the field office and asked them to bring equipment to crack the PDA.

"Are you guys working a second case, now?" Garcia sounded puzzled, but JJ could hear her fingers still working.

"Sort of. We're going to turn it over to the agents from the HTTF when they get here, but we're going to stay involved." One of their own had been attacked, and Morgan would flip if they didn't.

"HTTF? Human Trafficking? Oh, Jayje, something tells me I'm not going to like this story when I finally hear it."

JJ sighed. "No, you won't. But, just keep thinking, when we get back, we get to tease Emily."

"Oh? About what?" Garcia already sounded intrigued, and less gloomy.

"When she's really sick, she gets cuddly."

"Emily? I've seen her sick, she's as pissy as when she's hung over."

JJ cracked a tired smile. "You haven't seen her this sick; trust me, she was cuddly. At least, she was with Morgan."

Garcia chuckled. "Well, I'd get cuddly with him too."

* * *

It was an hour later that Garcia got remote access to the computer the HTTF agents brought, and was digging around the PDA, which they'd attached via a wire through the USB port. She had their computer on one screen, and had moved the live webcam video of her team to another. They had both her screens condensed into one. She was extra, super determined to find something useful on the PDA.

After getting off the phone, she'd called Morgan, and demanded to know where the hell he'd been, and why he hadn't been answering his phone. The house they were at, on the outskirts of that warped little town was apparently one of few places in town that had cell reception, fortunately. He'd actually been surprised to hear his phone ring.

Then he'd run through the whole story, and Garcia had been about white-knuckled by the end. How the hell had the two of them heading out to interview a victim turn into_that_?

Damn it. "Alright, I'm going to download this mess onto one of my babies, and crack it through there, I have better programs. But, I did finish weeding through those missing women. A few were dead, a few were found, but most are still missing. The file should pop up on your computer in a few seconds."

"Just got it," Hotch told her.

"How many did you say you found?" JJ asked.

"In the last ten years? Fifty women. 43 of those are within the last five years, so I think that's when your scumbags have been operating."

"43 three women?" Morgan gaped, anger bubbling under the surface. "They abducted 43 women and sold them as prostitutes."

Hotch's phone rang and interrupted any further conversation. Garcia kept one eye on the screen as she worked on hacking into the PDA. Rossi's voice, slightly distorted on her end, pulled her concentration away. She looked on the screen and saw Hotch with his hand out, phone in his palm, apparently on speaker.

"They got her fever under control, it's at 102, and they said it should keep going down as the antibiotics work. Bacterial pneumonia, which they've determined probably started out as aspiration pneumonia. The x-rays showed more fluid in her lungs than would be normal for pneumonia, you can imagine how much fun it was to explain that she was probably nearly drowned several times. They said she should be alright after a few days rest and lots of antibiotics and fluids."

"Do they know how long they'll keep her?" Hotch asked.

"No, but I told them to keep her as long as they need, and if she tries to argue, they have our permission to put her in restraints. The doctor looked a little worried after that."

Garcia caught the subtle amused smiles on her teammates mouths, and the confusion from the other agents present.

"Alright Dave, keep us updated," Hotch said.

"Will do."

She spun around then to the monitor she'd been using to try and crack the PDA. Her fingers danced a tango on the keyboard, as she sent her personally-written passcode breaking programs in one by one. When one finally broke it, a grin spread over her face.

"I see that smile, babygirl. What did you do?" Morgan's voice brought a bigger smile to her face.

"Just what you asked me too, hotstuff. I'm in the PDA, and I'm looking around." She answered, without looking away from her screen, or her fingers slowing down by even a microsecond.

Most of it was standard PDA fare: call log, text log (small), email log (even smaller), a few photos (a dead deer, really?), and then she found a hidden, password protected file. Well, it wasn't much protection against her, but against the average layman, sure. It was a decent-sized file too.

She opened it, and found herself staring at a large spreadsheet. The first column was two women's name (both first names), followed two columns of dates set almost a month apart, a column with a surname, another with a country, and the last with a dollar figure. The figures looked to be between forty and sixty thousand dollars. She noticed a hidden row at the top, and forced the program to show it. Her breath caught.

Package - Obtained - Delivered - Client - Location - Payment

She scrolled down to the last entry, number 41, the most recent entry.

Emily/Briar - 1/27/11 - 1/28/11 - Forero - Columbia - $60,000

"Bastards," she mumbled under her breath.

"Penelope...you got something?" Morgan sounded concerned.

"Yeah, apparently our girl is worth sixty grand to some guy in Colombia." Her voice was venomous, and Penelope Garcia wasn't often an angry person. "I found their roster of sales. It dates back to 2005, 41 women on it, including Emily. It lists first names only, but with dates, it should be easy enough to match them up with the missing persons cases. I'm sending it over to you guys now." A few more key strokes, and she was backing up the file on the FBI servers and sending it to the team.

"Hotch," she heard Morgan call him over, and flipped to the monitor to watch the Unit Chief join he and JJ studying the list. With where the webcam was in the computer, it looked like they were studying her.

"You think you can bring these women back home to their families?" She asked, voice soft with hope.

"We're going to try, babygirl." Morgan said.

Hotch didn't take his eyes off the list when he said, "We've already brought one back."

* * *

The first thing Emily noticed was that she was warm; the second thing was that her chest hurt like hell when she breathed. After that, everything came quickly. She could move her arms, her hands weren't tied. She wasn't leaning against a wall, in fact she was laying, against something soft. The loveseat?

No, there were tubes in her nose, and coming out of the back of her hand, and the light was really, really bright, and...shit, she was in a hospital. She hated the hospital. Then she heard herself breathe, a sick wheeze from her chest, and had to concede, she probably needed to be there. At least, for now.

Eyes fully open, and brain awake and aware, Emily surveyed the room. Window, curtains, nightstand with flowers, monitoring equipment, chair across from her feet, door, Rossi... "Rossi?"

He glanced up from his magazine as she started coughing, her chest aching with every burst. He came toward her with a plastic cup and stuck a straw in her mouth, and then put a box of tissues in front of her. The water helped, but the tissues gave her a repository for the nasty glob of phlegm coming up out of her chest.

"Look who's lucid again," he said, smiling at her.

"That doesn't sound good." She took a deep wheezing breath, and pushed herself to a sitting position, Rossi was quick to help her.

"Neither do you."

"Thanks...what happened? What day is it? What time?" She wasn't lucid at some point, shit. That couldn't be good.

"It's almost midnight. You and Morgan crashed into the rock pile, not earlier today, but earlier yesterday."

Morgan! "Oh god, is he alive? Is he okay?"

"Easy. Yeah, this is actually the third time you're getting this information."

Her mouth opened, but instead of speaking, she started coughing. She grabbed another tissue, and spit out more phlegm.

"You were sleeping when we arrived, and then you were delirious, you didn't realize we were there. Morgan had played action hero and all of the men who abducted you were restrained. You don't remember any of that?"

Eyes wide, she shook her head.

"You don't remember snuggling with Morgan on the loveseat?" He teased.

Her eyebrows shot up and she coughed. "We snuggled?"

"Well, I think he was trying to keep you warm, and you were...very, very out of it."

"Obviously."

"Your temp was almost 105 when there paramedics got there, which means that it hit at least 105, because Morgan had dragged you outside and was trying to cool you off. You gave us all a hell of a scare," he said. She wasn't quite sure how to respond, he saved her the trouble. "We found a basin of water in the basement, the floor around it was wet. What did they do to you, Emily?"

She swallowed and looked away. "They'd show up every hour, push my head into the basin. I tried to hold my breath, but I couldn't hold it that long." She stopped, and coughed. It felt like fire ripping through her lungs. After catching her breath, she continued. "They brought just barely to the point of drowning, and he kept asking my name. He wanted me to say...um..."

"Briar?" Rossi asked.

"Yeah. How'd you...?"

"We found a ledger. They'd kidnapped other women before you."

"I figured."

He nodded. "Do you know what they planned on doing with you?"

Did she? No, she couldn't detect that from their behavior. She shook her head.

"They were going to sell you to a man in Colombia. Forced prostitution. You were abducted by a human-trafficking ring." He took her hand as he spoke, as if to anchor her to reality.

She didn't know what to say, only that her mouth was hanging open in utter disbelief. The idea buzzed around her brain, as she struggled to make sense of it. Eventually, she stopped trying, and shoved it into a dark corner of her brain. Maybe she'd deal with it later, maybe she'd just leave it buried there. Emily turned on her sometimes odd sense of humor, and looked at Rossi. "How much did I go for?"

* * *

_Okay, three things. First, thank you tfm for pointing out that what they did to Emily wasn't actually water-boarding, next time I'll exert the effort to research. Second, I'm sorry it took so long to get this posted, it's been a long week. Last thing, one more chapter-an epilogue-and this story will be finished. I'll try to get that up Monday. _

_Thank you for reading, and thank you to those who reviewed!_


	9. Chapter 9

Two days later

He found her already mostly packed, leaning over the bed, one hand on her upper chest, the other holding a tissue to her mouth as she coughed. It was a deep, wet cough that rattled around in her chest, and jolted her body.

"You sure you don't need another day here?" Morgan stepped into the room, and rested a hand gently on her back. They'd closed their case late yesterday, but decided to stick around and get some rest before heading back.

Prentiss shot him an annoyed look. She looked a bit better, no longer flushed with fever, and her eyes were focused. But, she still looked too pale, and by the way her body sagged, he could tell she was still weak. "I can sleep through the day just as easily in my own bed."

He held up his hands. "Alright, I was just checking...you sound like shit you know?"

"Yeah, the sound I can deal with, it's the pain that's killing me."

"In your chest?"

She nodded. "Feels like someone's sitting on me, until I cough, and then it feels like someone's stabbing me."

Morgan frowned. "Is that normal?"

She began coughing again, while simultaneously trying to nod. Morgan winced, and he must have showed some sign of guilt, because as soon as she stopped coughing, she looked him straight in the eyes. "You couldn't have known what the truck driver was going to do, Morgan. This isn't your fault."

"I pushed you to go with him," he argued. He couldn't help it, that's what he'd been thinking about the last three days.

"Damn it Morgan, you have nothing to feel guilty about. You are the _only_ reason I'm not in Colombia being pimped out by a guy named Forero. Do you get that?" She started coughing then and rushed to grab a tissue to catch the phlegm.

He shifted around, but didn't comment. He knew that, but still, he felt like he should have found her sooner. Should have figured out what was going on quicker.

Emily wiped her mouth and looked at him. "Do you know what I was thinking about while I was in that basement?" She didn't give him a chance to respond. "That nobody would be going out there to get you, that you'd freeze to death, and there was nothing-" she was cut-off by another coughing fit, "nothing I could do to help you...I was so sure you were dead."

Morgan heard her voice crack, and knew he wasn't the only one shaken by the experience. Rather than continue debating the matter, especially when talking was making her cough more, he simply pulled her into a hug. Emily let her head fall against his shoulder, and he could tell she was still weak by how she let much of her weight relax against him. Being that close, he could hear the ugly wheeze from her chest as she breathed.

"Alright Agent Prentiss-oh, sorry to interrupt."

They immediately parted and turned to see a cheery nurse with a stack of papers, a large envelope, and a wheel chair with a tissue box on it.

"Oh, I don't think so," Emily said.

The nurse looked confused, but then shook it off and pressed on. "I have your discharge papers here, as well as your medication. You need to take the antibiotic twice a day, preferably with a meal, and as close to the same time each day as possible. You must finish them, even after you start to feel better. The expectorant can be taken up to three times a day. Any questions?"

"Nope." Emily accepted the papers, and two orange prescription bottles, stowing them in her bag.

"If you start to get a fever again, make sure you take some ibuprofen or acetaminophen, but it should stay down with the antibiotics. Make sure you get plenty of rest and fluids, keep a bottle of water around if that makes it easier for you. Also, you should see your regular doctor in a few days, and they'll probably schedule you for an x-ray in a few weeks."

"Weeks?" Emily gaped.

Morgan almost laughed at the horrified expression on her face.

"Yes, pneumonia hangs around, so you need to take care of yourself," the nurse said, face as serious and severe as Hotch's.

Emily groaned, so Morgan responded for her. He smiled charmingly at the nurse. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she takes it easy for a while, and so will our boss."

The nurse smiled again. "Good. I grabbed a box of tissues, since you said you were heading right to a plane, and here's your x-rays, you should bring them to your doctor." Morgan took the large envelope before Emily could, and motioned her into the wheelchair.

"I don't need that." She was clearly exhausted, just from the last fifteen minutes, but too stubborn let it show.

"Yes, you do. Sit."

Emily glared at him, but still fell tiredly into the wheelchair. Morgan handed her the tissues, and tucked the envelope of x-rays in beside her. She went to motion for her bag, but he was already swinging it over his shoulder.

"I've got her from here, thanks," he told the nurse, who moved and let them through.

It didn't take long to get out to the SUV, and get settled in, and as they were pulling out of the hospital, he was struck by a sense of deja vu. This whole fiasco had started with the two of them driving together, just a simple drive to meet a victim. Now, they were going to meet the team at the airfield, but still, he felt a little anxious. He'd be happy when they got the hell out of this state, when they were in the air on the way home.

They'd already located 21 of the abducted women in four different cities, and the American consulates and local law enforcement had gotten them out safely and were working on getting them back to the states. At least 18 of them. Three were dead. All 21 families were being notified, and HTTF was simultaneously working on finding the other 19 women, assisting the prosecutors in the other countries in building cases against the pimps, and building a case against the residents of Culver.

Most of the shopkeepers in town knew what was going on, and many of the residents did as well. 29 people had been arrested on charges ranging from kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment to conspiracy to commit kidnapping. The BAU had promised their support and assistance as the HTTF needed it. He and Prentiss would both be testifying at the trials, and Garcia was still involved in tracking down the remaining 18 women.

Morgan noticed her expression had gone dark. "Prentiss? What are you thinking about?"

"Those women…they're coming home now, but a year, two, three, five years of…" Her hoarse, low speech trailed off, and she shifted her head, tongue running over her lip. "Can they ever be _okay_ again? Is it possible?"

He sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. I hope so. At least they won't have to suffer anymore."

Emily nodded and coughed, wincing against the ache. "I just can't stop thinking, they were shipped off on some creep's private plane," she stopped to cough again, "to a foreign country where men raped them again and again and ignored their screams and tears."

"Don't do that, princess. Don't go there, don't let that into your head and empathize so much," he warned.

"How can I not? That was almost me, I just got lucky that I travel with Superman." Then she dissolved into such a violent fit of coughing that Morgan nearly pulled the car over to make sure she was okay.

"I don't think talking is doing much for you, why don't we reserve this conversation for a while?"

She nodded, still trying to clear the phlegm from her throat.

"And for the record…hardly. If I was Superman, I'd have rescued you sooner."

Emily gave him a skeptical look, and croaked out, "You're close enough."

His response was a bitter laugh through his nose. No matter what she said, he'd be beating himself up for a while yet. He just about forced her into that truck, and she was literally tortured because of it. Now, she was so weak she should probably still be in the hospital, and if they'd been closer to home, she probably would be.

Morgan watched her rest her head back against the seat, eyes closed, a sick wheeze cycling in and out of her chest.

"Hey Prentiss." She turned to him. "When the nightmares start, I'll be on the other end of the phone line, you just have to dial."

The corners of her mouth turned up in a tired smile. "Thanks, and that goes both ways."

He squeezed her hand, but released it quickly, so she could brace her chest as she coughed. They pulled into the airport as she was settling again, and Morgan remembered something he was supposed to tell her. "Oh, Garcia said she made you some chicken soup."

Emily's eyes instantly brightened. "Homemade food?"

He chuckled. "Yep, and I've had her soup, it's good."

She looked instantly contented, and he was thankful for that. Morgan put the car into park, and began grabbing bags, before giving her a hand out. He gave the keys to a young agent waiting by the doors, and they headed inside. The team was waiting in the section for private aircraft departures, looking rather bored, but the site of them was never such a relief.

It was over, this whole miserable mess was over, finally. "Come on," he nudged Emily, "you look like you're about to fall down."

She glared at him, but there was no malice behind it.

* * *

_This story is now finished. Thanks everyone for reading, and please review!_


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